Page 98 of Home Ice

Oh fuck. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck! Did Brant tell them? I have to force the breaths in and out of my lungs. No, he wouldn't. "How?" My gaze sweeps the room and every single man in here is smiling their support. I should be filled with the love they're reflecting at me, but my body—with its heart, which has now gone from zero to one hundred—isn't picking up on that signal at all. "How do you know?" I whisper to Kayden.

He doubles down on the smile, making it even bigger. "It's okay," he says and then turns to the others. "Look, it's okay."

"It is not okay!" Kayden shuffles backward at my outburst. "How do you know?" This is it. It's not my relationship with Brant that ends my career. It's this. Maybe these twenty men are fine with a transgender trainer, but what about management? What about the team I work for when my time here is up? How many athletes are so poisoned by toxic masculinity that they see people like me as a threat? They won't want me anywhere near them once the word is out. It's going to be middle school and high school all over again. They're never going to stop taking everything from me.

"Brant didn't tell you?" Kayden asks. I shake my head, unable to breathe, let alone say anything. "That donkey was trying to get into Brant's head by saying... things about you."

"That's why you cross-checked him?"

Kayden nods. "I overheard him. I know Brant is kind of limited out there since he has to stay in net, but that doesn't mean I won't defend you."

"Any of us," someone says quietly. I don't catch who it is.

"Any of us would defend you," Kayden revises. "Sorenson was too stupid to get the message though. He kept talking shit. That's when they heard." He motions over his shoulder to the rest of the team, and my stomach drops into whatever floor is below even the basement of this building. "And that's why Brant had to do it."

How could this Sorenson guy have known, though? Aside from hearing the infuriating announcers talk admirably about how he plays greasy—whatever the hell that means—I don't know anything about him. How could he know this about me? Is it common knowledge around the league? No, it can't be if the players on my own team didn't know. Did he hire someone? Is he that obsessed with Brant that he would do something like that? The answer hits me like someone swinging a stick at my midsection. Tyler. "That fucker. I'm going to kill him." I growl at Kayden, "I don't know how to murder someone, but I'm a health professional, and I've got two minutes to figure it out. He is dead."

I shove at Kayden, and he steps aside. The other players have a mix of supportive and concerned looks on their faces, but they part to make a path for me. I walk out the same door that Brant left through earlier and out into the concrete walkway. The thumping bass beat from a song being played in the arena filters down from above as I look for some sign of where to go. There's nothing, so I pick a direction and storm that way. It doesn't matter. I will search every inch of these tunnels to find him.

When I see a middle-aged man standing outside a door, wearing a navy blazer over a red t-shirt, I know this has to be the place. I want to smile at him. I even try. But my face refuses to make anything close to a smile. I just flash my pass and yank the door open. Lucky for him, he doesn't try to stop me.

There's a neon blue "Denver" on one side of this hallway, and a neon red "Squall" on the other. This is the right place. An open door on the left has "Blow On" painted above it, and I march through it into the Denver dressing room, barely thinking about what a horrible slogan that is. Maybe "greasy" means "pissed off about a stupid slogan created by a team of marketers who have obviously never heard of double entendres."

Their coach is standing in front of a large electronic whiteboard. Some of the players are watching him, others look up at me. All of them except the coach are in various states of undress. One of the players covers his bare chest, and I would roll my eyes under normal circumstances. "Where is Tyler Donaldson and this fucking number forty-seven?" I shout, interrupting the coach. Now everyone in the room is looking at me, but no one says a word. A few pairs of eyes flick to my left, though, and I see a door that I assume is a training room. "Carry on," I tell them as I stride across the room.

Inside, I recognize Denver's head trainer from our pre-game meeting to discuss safety protocols. He's tending to someone's face. Based on the splint taped to his nose, the gauze shoved up both nostrils, and the eyes that have already turned purple, I assume the face belongs to Mr. Greasy. "You," I thrust a finger at him, coming so close to his nose that he flinches away. "You know nothing about me. You know nothing about what I had to go through just to be me. So that means you have no right to say anything about me on or off the ice. My identity is none of your business, and the only reason you would ever have any problem with it is if you're insecure in yourself. So congratulations. You just showed the entire world what an insecure, pathetic, small man you are."

His head rolls slightly as I confront him. Based on the unfocused look in his eyes, he clearly has a concussion, so his already diminished brain is working at even less than its normal low capacity.

"You're making a scene." A familiar voice says behind me. I whip to glare at Tyler. I can't believe he has the nerve to say anything to me.

"And you hate that, don't you? You always hated when I drew attention to myself. You always wanted me to be quieter than I already was. To stay just a step behind you so you wouldn't have to acknowledge me. So others wouldn't know how close you were to me." His eyes dart around the room, and I move closer so he has no choice but to look at me. "You never claimed me. The whole time we were together. The whole time you were fucking me, you never claimed me. Well, that man over there claims me every chance he gets. He wants everyone to know."

His face is red. But it's not anger; I've seen that plenty of times. This is something else. His eyes are wide, and he looks like he wishes he could melt into the wall behind him. Humiliation.

"You didn't tell him how you know about my past." He flinches, confirming my suspicion. "Of course you didn't. You wouldn't want anyone to know that you fucked a trans woman. That you dated her. That you lived with her for almost two years, taking advantage of her the entire time. You don't want them to know because you're embarrassed of me. You always were. Well, you don't get to feel that way, Tyler. You can't keep me hidden or make me feel lower than you, as if that were even possible."

There are several players in the room now, and I glare at every one of them. "None of you get to have an opinion about my existence. You don't get to define me. Do you get that? Not a single person in this arena except me. If these two represent who you are, then you all need to do better. Now let me through…please."

I walk through the parted players, back into the main dressing room. The coach is still standing at the whiteboard, his mouth open as he stares at me. "Um, sorry?" I offer. He fumbles with his tablet and the board goes blank. "I didn't see whatever secret play that was. Besides, it would be pretty stupid of me to come in here like this if my intention was to spy, right?" He nods, but still stares with his mouth hanging open.

"I don't know what you think you're doing, but you need to think again." Milo says from behind me. I turn around. He's standing shirtless with his back to me. Tyler is on the other side of him with Milo's enormous hand on the center of his chest. I recognize the red of Tyler's face immediately this time. This is his anger. I brace myself to take whatever it is he thinks he can do to me.

Milo must sense that I've stopped because he twists to look at me, waving with his free hand like he's seeing a friend at the park. "Hi Lily. I'll take care of the weasels from here. Tell the boys I said hello, and that I'll let them score one goal for every syllable these roaches mutter against you."

I'm pretty sure that's unethical and maybe even violates the league's collective bargaining agreement, but I have no doubt he would do it. I grin. "Thanks, Milo. I will. It's good to see you. I miss you."

"I miss you too. Don't worry about any more problems coming from here. I'm going to take care of you."

I nod and walk out the door. I think that might be the most words I've ever heard Milo say at one time, and it's definitely the only time I've ever seen him stand up to someone. My smile grows a little wider, knowing that he's doing it for me.

CHAPTER 59

SORT OF A PACKAGE DEAL

BRANT

"You know, I have a bigger TV," I say.

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